


Where You Belong

by cledritch



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Fae & Fairies, Fae Ten, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, Magic-Users, Minor Character Death, Possessive Behavior, Prince Winwin, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-21 03:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21067931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cledritch/pseuds/cledritch
Summary: The rules are his last mementos from her. Her last warning is to never trust magic ever again, miles away from her stories before.





	Where You Belong

In his kingdom, magic is beautiful. 

In every story his mother tells him, magic gives and magic helps. Every single tale she weaves through petal pink lips, magic aids those in need. She carries his tiny body around the town plaza everyday, dressed down to blend in with the townsfolk as they perform their own spells. Fire that dances underneath a blacksmith's hammer to shape metal, water sprites that serve their masters as they create displays and ice sculptures for the entertainment, and the flowers that laugh whenever they are plucked from their stems by passing couples to gift to their others, listening to the music they made. In every corner of the town, magic thrives like a beacon.

Magic is in his blood, his mother says. As it was in hers, in her family for generations and with his father's own mixing with hers, it is in his birthright to practice it.

His memories of her are tinted red.

Her regal red dress with its lace trimmings, long sleeves that always tickled when it brushes against his hand when he clung to hers as they walked through the halls. She spoke in reds, words always shining in hues as if she encased fire in her every thought. He chalks it up as her magic, red and vibrant and  _ alive _ ; the very embers of her heart reaching out to his own and warming him when the nights were cold. Every night, when the stars are not enough to keep him at ease, she shows him with her palms outstretched between them, fire dancing across them with a mind of its own as its tips flickers shapes in the darkness of his room.

"Fire brings life. There is a distant place where they spoke of fire stolen from the gods and given to man." she tells him every night, voice warm and comforting. "Beautiful it may be, promise me to never play with it. You are not built for fire, my wonderful boy."

"Mama, then why show me all this tricks if I'm not allowed near it?" he remembers asking, confused as he reaches out to brush his fingertips on the tips of hers. 

There's a sensation that confuses him to this day. Searing pain that chars his fingers to the knuckle, the flames bursting in his mother's hand in a white light, exhausting it. 

To this day, he remembers the fear in his mother's eyes as she closes her hands around his as if she'll break them.

She always takes him to the forest whenever she thought she could escape his father's attention.

He doesn't understand what is so special about the place. The trees were taller, she tells him but every tree was tall to his childish mind. It doesn't help that whenever they walked through the path she made, the branches reached out, almost trying to touch him. Always early morning, they'd walk through the fog as he inhales the scent of morning dew and earth, ignoring how eerie silence would follow as they thread deeper.

He listens to her stories here too, of how she found that the forest itself is magic. Pulsating in every root, every animal, every stream, she would let him be barefoot so he can feel every energy that flows through every being in the forest. He feels the trees as they reach for the sun, feel the unmistakable footprints of the deer and squirrels frolicking nearby. But he stops in his tracks one fateful day. His mother, a few paces away, doesn't realize.

He turns, head tilting up as he stares at the figure crouching on a branch, smile splitting their face. He feels his legs shaking, forcing himself to continue walking without averting his gaze from where the stranger is. The magic he feels is starting to seep into his body, hungry and desperate that he feels like he's drowning. He swallows the rising bile when the stranger slinks down the tree with inhuman grace, disappearing between shrubs without moving its eyes from him.

He whips his head and runs to his mother.

She must have seen her terror because she holds his wrist firmly and guides them out just as the sun takes its place in the sky, the warmth too dull against the fumes from his mother's unease. She would lock him in his room after dinner, worry flickering on her face as the voices of her arguing with his father became too loud that he can no longer ignore it where he is bundled in his covers.

“Why would you bring him there if it worries you so?”

“Because his magic will not let it be any other way.”

These words are few of the first that would teach him that magic is not as simple as his mother’s stories would seem.

It isn’t until he is seven does he see the stranger from the forest again.

His lessons migrates from the history of magic and how it is used to learning how to find his own, his tutors eager to know if he’s inherited his mother’s fire or his father’s affinity for light. If it were to be he held both, it would surely be quite formidable for his kingdom to possess. Still, he shows that he can use pedestrian spells but no luck on whether his own affinity is manifesting. Sometimes they pushed and pushed too hard that he could no longer take it, levitating books into their faces without meaning to and rushing out to find a quieter place to vent his frustrations.

His mother disappears more often now, sometimes with him and sometimes alone without telling his father. She’s grown quite strange as of late, discussions of her son’s magic hitting her too hard it seemed that she would even refuse him when he asked if he could see her magic. She’d forbid him from following her to the forest, eyes wide and frantic as she ushers him to a maid so he can do anything else.

Now, he runs to the forest, ignoring the path that his mother used to take him through and stomping between the looming shrubs, too angry to take notice of where he's headed. Not realizing how deep into the forest he is going. He finds himself in a clearing, sitting down a stump right in the middle of it and throwing off his shoes to let the magic distract him from his own mind.

He feels the trees as if they were whispering, strangely giddy he must say and no animal to be found. There’s a pulsating energy that’s concentrated here, caressing against him in curiosity. And then as he blinks, he feels it again.

Unmistakable hunger that makes his head hurt as he closes his eyes to try to alleviate it.

When he opens his eyes, the stranger is right in front of him. 

“What is your name, young one? Why are you alone?” it asks, smile still too large for his face and skin shimmering like opals. Its face is boyish, hair that shifts from a deep black to a burgundy everytime the wind flows through wearing stark white clothes that shimmered when he moves to sit down beside him.

His voice made his heart seize in terror. It resonates with the wind, the forest shaking with it and he curls his feet up to his body to escape the nauseating magic that came with it. The stranger sees this, eyes half-lidded as it touches his cheek with a feather-light touch. 

“There, there.” it cooes, voice like a raging storm “I’m merely a figment of your mind, dear one.”

Strange. Surely his mind would not give him such a vision to frighten him, would it? “I don’t want to be hurt.” he says truthfully, moving his head so the stranger’s hand no longer could reach his skin. “I shouldn’t have gone here without Mama.”

“Oh, poor boy. That’s why I’m here. To protect you.” It shuffles closer, leaning its forehead against the side of his head that he can smell earth tones that mingled with flowers he knows weren’t growing in this clearing. 

Perhaps then, it is made from his mind and when sharpened nails rakes across his pulse, he nods. “A spirit guide.” The idea is strange. His mother warns him about the dangers of this forest, about the magic that resides here too old to be tamed and then to the spirit guides that aided his father in his endeavors. Conflict arises in him on which to believe: the stranger or the familiarity.

“If you wish to call me so.” it rubs its head on his again, affectionate “What do I call you then?”

“Winwin, where are you?” his mother’s voice rings clear, realizing just where he is and he hastily puts his boots back on.

“That’s Mama. I need to go.” he doesn’t know why he should be telling it this but he really is too busy thinking of excuses to think about it.

There’s thinly-veiled displeasure on the stranger’s face, snarl showing the pricks of sharpened teeth that flicker to flattened ones when he stares too much. A pout surfaces, a tilt of the head that almost seems to break his neck “Come back.” It doesn’t make an effort to hide its demand.

“I will try.” he answers, none the wiser as he scurries off to find his mother before she finds him out of the path. 

He feels the call of the creature's magic even as he exits the forest, his mother clutching him to her chest as if to cage him.

His mother becomes more agitated when they arrived home, looking over him with her hands touching all over his face as if she is trying to find anything amiss.

“Did you see? What did it do?” she mumbles with shaking hands, turning Sicheng’s head from side to side.

“It hurts, mother.” Sicheng struggles. He feels her nails digging into his cheeks, tears stinging his eyes as she began to realize what she’s done. She let her grip slip down to Sicheng’s shoulder, an unreadable look on her face as she touches her forehead with his. He can feel her trembling, feel her breath become shallow as she calms herself down. 

A hand runs over his hair, down his neck and his mother embraces him with the whisper heavy against Sicheng’s skin “I won’t lose you too.”

Even when she says that, somewhere deep in Sicheng is yelling that she already has.

He doesn't remember what happened anything from when he was eight. Perhaps his father's physicians are right. He's grown mad with grief. Why else would a child forget a year of their life if not for the tragedy?

He doesn’t remember her death. He was still too young to understand, his father tells him but he knew that underneath the softness of his voice, he was vibrating with an emotion Sicheng cannot place. Sicheng would have fitful sleep, nightmarish figures haunting him with wicked grins and claws tinted red as his mother, sung distorted lullabies before it all drowns in red, red, red. He doesn’t remember them afterwards, wisps of his mother’s voice telling him about never playing with fire.

His mother died on Sicheng’s eight birthday, under the stars surrounded by the forest she loved so much. The wind caressing her cheeks as a smear of blood on her lip made them redder against her pale face.

He still remembers how she brought him there every time his father was too busy for them running his kingdom, holding his hand tighter now as she trekked through the forest. She tells him to understand that he always attracts the forest to him whenever they made through the paths she carved as a child herself, butterflies always wanting to land on his hair and deer sniffing around them with a friendly gleam in their eyes. Whenever Sicheng feels a presence out of place in the tranquility of the forest, his mother would wrap a rosary given by a foreigner she met many years ago around his palm as she whispered prayers of protection. 

This is where she tells him about faes. Faes who inhabit the forest for longer than she could tell, beings older than time itself who sought out magic to feed on. They were unpredictable things, playing by their own rules that didn’t extend to following humans. Tricksters, she explained. They viewed humans as below them and deemed them fun like shiny little toys with all intent to break them beyond their limits. Sicheng is always scared of the noises that follows them, voices of invisible people giggling and asking for his name as airy fingers tugs at his clothes and his mother warned him not to follow. Faes apparently were also charming, being able to make them likeable until it was too late for them to know they were sacrificing their lives to him. Usually the stories she tells Sicheng consists of trying to evade them, listing down simple rules for him to follow. She's worried for him but trusted him enough despite his inquisitive nature to not be led astray and stick close to her.

The rules are his last mementos from her. Her last warning is to never trust magic ever again, miles away from her stories before.

His mother's body is found in the clearing sprawled on the tree trunk as her blood spills against the alabaster wood like splattered paint, lilacs creeping up her hair. There's poison ivy wrapped around her throat, shoved into her mouth as if meaning to silence her. He doesn't recall, from what his father said his guards saw, kneeling beside her with fat tears sliding down his face trying to wake her, naked as the day he was born with blood on his hands and an unmistakable light emanating from the swirling marks on his arms and legs. The leading knight took off his cape to bundle him up and carried him home as the others carefully tried to carry his mother's body.

The marks are cursed, the mage who examined him said to his father, a furrow in his brow as he stared at the looping white lines that scattered like veins when they reach his palms and feet. They look like bracelets from afar if not for how they seem to pulse with light whenever Sicheng breathed. When they tried to touch him, the marks glowed brighter and the mage shrieked as he felt his magic suctioned in. It was unheard of for such magic to exist, the implication of the old tales of fae stealing magic is enough for Sicheng’s father to seek out the church from across the sea.

The unspoken accusation of Sicheng’s involvement in his mother’s death hangs heavy across the kingdom, even more so when whispers came from the maids that the king has become ill. They say he could no longer make light bend to his will and all fingers point to how Sicheng is eating his magic. 

These days, Sicheng thinks back to how his mother smiled at him as she told him the story of magic aiding those in need, fairy godmothers and wizards choosing the rightful king and how much she lied to him. Maybe she didn’t follow her own rules and look where it led her.

Her blood stains the forest even to this day.

Without magic, the kingdom fell. 

Sicheng’s adolescence is filled with water blessed by priests, foreign herbs imported from distant lands between his teeth as they hit his back with what they called a religious whip trying to expel the demonic magic possessing him. With every crack, with every burning pain blooming against his spine, the swirls on his skin pulsed aftershocks. Between every fitful sleep he got afterwards, no longer able to lay on his back without irritating his bruises, he can hear the sorrowful wails that he ignores as morning came. 

And now his father expects him to marry into a neighboring kingdom that may have been without magic but flourishing with natural resources they don’t know how to use. 

Sicheng wonders how much they’ve heard of the cursed prince that destroys everything he touches.

He never sets foot back into the forest. 

It pulls him, the magic that is slowly permeating from the area that grows weaker as the days pass. Without magic to sustain itself, it becomes dull and tainted that what he perceived as a beautiful place is what every traveler fears passing through. The trees have become gnarled, twisting bark and clawing branches that create menacing shadows against the dying grass. Fog comes despite the sunny weather, heavier when the rain comes that it’s hard to see beyond the shadows that seem to laugh at every lost passerby. He heard stories of children finding strange lights guiding them to follow off the path, about strangers whose features are too wide, too angular, too  _ different _ as they offer an array of food. They trigger a memory in his mind, of a hand offering berries and a mischievous smile that threatens to break their face.

Sometimes he fears even going outside. He chalks it up to the paranoia his father has instilled, the harsh grip on his arm as he scolds him for walking around the town to find a book he needed and the priests asking him to never touch anyone lest he steals their residual magic. He grows wary of the odd lights that appear in his garden, moving like fireflies but when he peers beyond his window, he finds that they have faces. Barely there, smoky features that look like the illustrations his mother made on her book about fae.

Since then, he sleeps with the book under his pillow and the rules repeated every morning before breakfast just so he never forgets.

Sicheng wonders how many memories he represses, how many moments are lost to his evasion of them. His mother’s laugh slowly vanishes from his mind as the years go by, her portraits taken down from the castle walls to help Sicheng grieve without being reminded of her in every turn. They don’t know about the small portrait of her that he stole from the inventory, hiding it within his gold amulet tucked safely near his heart. Her voice may have become a whisper as he replaced them with his own voice reciting the rules she made for him. It comforts him enough that he can sleep soundly without any fear of what lurks beyond his room. Ridicule, grief and someone always calling for him in the darkness. He feels the pull to follow the lights to answer every question his mother left behind in her death. But he recites the rules and thinks that there would be nothing left of him if he dares to go.

Not even holy water can wash away the dread crawling up his spine whenever he recalls the way his mother’s blood sinks between the crevices of the old tree.

His coming of age ceremony is a private affair.

Sicheng finds himself submerged in the tub full of holy water, herbs and incense invading his nose as he hears the drowned out prayers the priests speaks from around the tub. He tries to keep his mind from rebelling with the water surrounding him, careful not to seek air by reflex. His lungs burn when one of the priests drops petals into the water, signalling the end of the ceremony. Sicheng rises from his position, gasping and shaking his head to keep the water dripping from his hair to his eyes. He takes in his surroundings, eyes straining as the priests bows to his father before they scurry away. His father walks up to where he’s putting back his robe to hide his marks with a boy in tow, wide eyes taking in the looping curve on Sicheng’s arms before the latter finished dressing up. He’s young, messy hair the color of copper and looks malnourished with the way his arms are engulfed under his long sleeves. He stares unabashed, looking from him to his father as he waits for whatever the king brought him here for. 

“Was the ceremony to your liking?” his father asks with a quirk of his brow. It’s formality for him to ask a question he knew full well Sicheng detests. 

“The water was colder than I expected.” he tightens the ribbon around his waist into a knot, taking the towel prepared to wipe his hair. He doesn’t add that one of the priests pushed him down with a towel around his hand, as if making sure he wouldn’t be able to resurface. He doesn’t tell his father that the herbs they stuff between his teeth is making his stomach hurt. He won’t tell him. He feels guilt when he sees looks over his mother’s picture in his amulet and seeing his father unhappy for refusing help will not ease it. He’s doing all this for Sicheng, the last reminder of the woman he loved. But there are accusations in his eyes whenever he so much as glance at his son.

He returns Sicheng’s reply with a short nod, turning to the boy as he gestures him to introduce himself.

The boy straightens, looking anywhere but Sicheng as he bows “Your majesty, I apologize for staring,” he says in a rush, red blooming on his cheeks “My name is Renjun. I’m here to be your personal attendant.”

Sicheng's eyebrows shoot up at his apology. As much as everyone pretends they don't look at him, it is clear with how Sicheng's skin crawls that they do. No one else admits to doing so but it is less likely for someone to apologize for it. He is still royalty and rudeness will lead to treason. However, it is hard to condemn someone for a crime they don't admit to. So all the maids and the knights that are new see him as a novelty and older staff are used to him by now to simply bypass his flaws with a pitying look.

He looks at his father, trying to determine where he found this boy but the man is clasping Renjun's back to move closer to him before retreating to the door. He turns back to his new servant, already curious "Where did he find you?"

Renjun stiffens but strains a smile still "I was kicked out by my old master." He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to when Sicheng already knows. To be kicked out of a household they served, it would mean a crime punishable by death. Renjun is alive because they believed his crime fit him serving a monstrosity, not understanding he may as well be left for dead.

"Did my father tell you about the rules he set for you?" Every servant employed that would have contact with Sicheng knows as much as to not touch him without a barrier between them. Usually the most effective barrier are iron gloves, handmade to be comfortable for Sicheng to wear and for everyone's safety. That's why most of his clothes have iron mingling with the material, keeping his magic subdued. From what Sicheng recalls, his personal servants never lasted longer than a week so he doesn't manage to know the rest of the rules his father set out. The most important rule, after all, is to not touch him.

Renjun gives him a strange look before he shrugs “I suppose he told me enough? And it is still a miracle he took me in to take care of you when you’re older than me but…” he trailed off and gives Sicheng a smile that shows a prominent snaggletooth. He claps his hands, looking over the clothes Sicheng strewn all over the floor “Let’s get you dressed? Or should I wait till you have more layers on?”

Sicheng merely gives a half-smile before he went to get dressed by his own. Renjun’s offended look only lasts a second before he orders the boy to read with him another set of rules to ensure he would manage to serve him longer.

Renjun becomes the longest servant to serve him after that. He is clumsy but efficient enough that he can memorize Sicheng’s schedule by the second week, becoming friendly with the staff that they would always give him extra helpings and any request he asked for whenever he swings by. He doesn’t flinch when Sicheng is in the room nor does he asks any questions about his curse. He does his job and in turn, he talks to the older boy about his studies, curious about education because he’s never gone to school. Sicheng shares with him whatever new lesson he’s subjected to, the conversations helping him dig more about the topics and his tutors looked impressed. 

Renjun knows about the lights that dance near Sicheng’s windows, chants Sicheng’s rules when he finds the other curled up in his bed soaked in sweat from the nightmare he’s gone through. He doesn’t tell the king. He knows that it is not his place to say it.

“Absolutely not.”

“If I don’t go then how will I ever face my future?” Sicheng huffs, pacing back and forth. The fur-lined half cape is heavy against one shoulder as he tugs at his collar to ease the heat. He feels more constrained in his formal garb this time round, his crown sitting heavy against his temple. He's expected to have dinner with a well-known hero from the West, a prince who fought dragons and whose trials are sung by bards throughout the land. He has nothing against prince Youngho whatsoever. He is well-educated judging from how much he knew about Sicheng's kingdom before even setting foot here, interacting through letters to get to know each other more. He's polite but Sicheng knew that he is respecting Sicheng's space and not bothering him even though his father told them to mingle. He seems disinterested, too fascinated with the remnants of magic in the carved walls of the castle when he arrived so Sicheng lets him roam while he is thinking of ways to sabotage his father's plans of marriage. "If he wished to get rid of me, marriage isn't the only solution!" 

Renjun sighs, reaching out to stop Sicheng's pacing and force him to sit down on the side of his bed. He's grown now, Sicheng's only servant to survive Sicheng's strangeness who was there to help him not make any sort of mistake that could put him in danger. His company is a breath of fresh air, choosing to keep his formalities for the king's audience but becoming Sicheng's voice of reason when it's only them, titles and upbringing nullified that Renjun has become something of a brother Sicheng wished he had.

"Does this have something to do with the nightmares you've been having this week?" Renjun whispers, eyes flickering around them to make sure nothing could be eavesdropping "Is the voice calling you again?" 

Sicheng nods jerkily, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt "It's my mother's voice this time. They made it seem like she wanted me to come back to that place," he takes a deep breath "Maybe if I reasoned with whatever is living in that forest, they'd leave me alone and get rid of this curse." 

His marks burn under his clothes, almost like a heartbeat.

Sicheng is running out of time at this point. 

"Please tell you at least brought this impromptu visit of yours to your father."

"He would rather chain me to a bed and force me to do my vows to Prince Youngho so I can leave the kingdom to move to my husband's with no one to answer my questions." Sicheng pinches his nose bridge in exasperation. He's not a child anymore. He deserves to have closure, to know what happened that fateful day his mother died. The blanks he needed to fill all lead to the forest that smog has devoured. It's not as vibrant as he recalled and the sounds he hears from it in a distance sends shivers down his spine. 

Renjun looks as if he wants to say something but there's a knock on the door as a maid scurries inside with her head down "Your father requires your presence for dinner, your majesty." She doesn't even hide how she runs off with a slam of the door after.

Looks like Sicheng will have to do things in his own terms. 

From how Renjun is giving him a pleading look to not pursue whatever he is thinking about proved how much he thought Sicheng was making a mistake.

He doesn't recall how he ends up out and about while stars twinkle from overhead illuminating the path that led into the forest, strange glowing orbs that could be fireflies if Sicheng allowed himself to think they were and not the entities who would gladly play with a curious stranger in their lair. The cold wind is making goosebumps rise and his spine straightens, shivering as he wraps his arms around himself to keep him as warm as he can. His sleeping clothes may be too thin for a night out of his room and he looks down to find he is at least wearing boots. Small mercies. His gaze darts at the path, the same beaten dirt that his mother helped him through as a child. It's smaller now that Sicheng is older but the pull is still as strong as the day his mother first took him with her in her daily walks. The trees surrounding the path are less menacing, leaves rustling as the wind picked up and the orbs are moving deeper into the forest.

Sicheng bites his lower lip in contemplation.

He may have been resolute in his decision to come back to the forest but he wanted to go back in daylight, where it would seem less daunting to trek into the woods with only the stars as his witness. He wanted to come prepared, head held high and heart beating loudly to face his demons. Now, in his too thin clothes and shivering form, he feels vulnerable to whatever trouble that may come. He recites under his breath "Don't tell them your name. Don't thank them. Be respectful to them. Never come back alone in the forest." 

Nothing bad will happen if he dared to cross. He just wanted closure, something to ease the hole in his heart where his mother's death had emptied. He knows it deep in his bones that he would be safe for him to take a stroll and he will only go as far as the trail will go to avoid getting lost. 

"Renjun, forgive me." He whispers into the wind and starts walking with tentative steps towards the entrance of the forest, overgrown weeds almost covering the path and casting shadows that seem to move differently than his. He takes a long breath, the crunching of soil underneath his boots too loud for the silence overcoming his surroundings. He rubs his hands over his arms, feeling a ripple underneath his skin and looks down to find his marks are lit. It's scary to see it with how it pulses in tune to Sicheng's heartbeat, almost a beacon of light that allows him to see a little of what is ahead of him after his eyes adjust to the darkness. The trees that looms the side of the path appear as if they're bowing to him, shadows making it seem like there's someone perching on the branches staring at him. The deeper he goes, pants now covered in grass stains as the overgrown path becomes narrower and narrower, the more his marks settle. He hears something from behind me, his footsteps too loud still that he thinks it was because of that. He will not scare himself more than he already has. He inhales the air, noting the scent of the forest (sweet and pleasant, unlike the gardens the gardener uses manure as fertilizer) and hugs himself tighter. The path is leading deeper into the bushes and when he parts a hedge that has completely blocked the path, he hears the sound of water. 

"Huh." He whispers to himself, looking over his shoulder gauging if he was still close to the entrance. The opening of the forest is too far now, a tiny pinprick of light amidst the darkness so he steels himself and tumbled out the hedge to find the path is no longer there. Instead, he finds a lake with a waterfall cascading from the cliffs above and if he squints a little he can see a smaller waterfall just a few paces away from the first one where he can see has a cave behind it.

He doesn't remember this lake existing. 

Sicheng is sure that this was not the path his mother took him to, goosebumps on his arms not from the cold as he took in the shimmering water that seems to be glowing in tune to Sicheng's marks. He gulps, paranoia sparking up his spine as he recalls that many got lost in the forest, people who were never heard of again. The very few who managed became insane and warned everyone to never trifle with the forest unless they wish to pay the price for it. Sicheng heads to a somewhat closed space away from plain sight as he fumbles with his shirt, unbuttoning it and turning it inside out before putting it on again. He did the same with his pants despite how much he is shaking at the cold.

He turns back to the hedge where he finds that there are two hedges now where he remembers one of them wasn't there before. Was he too late? 

"Don't panic, don't panic. Just a harmless trick." Sicheng slaps his hands over his ears when he hears giggling from the lake, a buzzing accompanying it that seems to resonate with Sicheng's marks. He approaches it slowly, making sure he keeps as quiet as he can. The water is still, ripples erupting when Sicheng accidentally kicked a pebble with his steps. The lights surrounding the lake flickering into a myriad of pinks and purples, the water revealing what looks like movement underwater.

Sicheng is at the edge of the lake, looking down to see if there was any sight of its inhabitants. He keeps a hand on a sturdy rock to avoid falling over and disturbing the quiet atmosphere that settled in the area. He doesn't hear any whispering from the lake, seeing his reflection peering back at him.

Everything seems okay, he thought and reached over to touch the water when his reflection grins so much it cuts his face, a hand shooting out the water and grabbing his arm. 

He sinks down the lake, a blurry figure with hands around his neck forcing him deeper. Sicheng wants to scream but there's water in his mouth and the hands hold on tighter that he can't even properly breathe anymore. Water surrounds him, the drag of the current he didn't realize existed pulling him deeper. He feels his lungs straining to try to breathe but rewards him with more water in his mouth, his nose. He can feel a strange buzzing sensation from where he knew his marks are, wondering if he opens his eyes to look at them, would he see the light? But he feels the hands dragging him up by the neck, a sudden turn from the way they drag him deeper. 

He surfaces, gasps heavy as he gulps as much air as he can and shaking off the hair clinging wet against his eyes. His lungs are burning, throat scratchy as he hits a fist against his chest to settle his pounding heartbeat. 

Sicheng doesn't wait for whatever could be down there to strangle him again, straining his feet to move. He flails around as he swims, trying to find somewhere he can be out of the water, the burn in his arms as he paddles closer to what he thinks is a small cave in the very end of the other side of the lake.

He manages to get a firm grip on the slippery rock, hauling himself with some effort and sitting down on the wet surface, shivering as water droplets cascade over him. The cave is small, barely fitting three people and his head hits a rock peeking from above, the smell of the earth and the water dizzying. The echoing sound of water dripping from the top of the cave is echoing too much within the small space, Sicheng placing both his hands to cover his ears.

"Oh, dear. You're soaked."

Sicheng backpedals too fast as his back makes contact with the wall, the sharp point of a rock protruding from it jab against his lower back just a touch too painful. He chokes on air when he turns around and sees no one. 

He looks around, peering into the water with hands on the rocks to balance him. He almost screams when he doesn't see his reflection. Instead, there is someone with silver hair submerged underwater staring at him with golden eyes. 

The person smiles, a face so familiar Sicheng has to run his hand over his eyes to clear his vision. They break out into the surface, hair glittering blue when they move and a feline smile gracing pale lips. He tilts his head slowly, assessing him.

Sicheng is hit with the memory of this very face before his mother picked him up, a blurry image of how they lean closer to him, demanding he return to the forest.

"You…" he says under his breath, moving farther into the cave to get away. He feels his body grow colder, the chill seeping into his skin from soaking in the lake and the strange presence that this familiar stranger is surrounded by.

The smile he returns is demonic. “You came back.”

“I-” Sicheng cuts off his sentence with a click, making sure to bite down his tongue to not ask questions. He knows better, knows from the very core of his body that if he tries to be disrespectful, it would end badly. “I did.”

“Winwin, it’s so good to see you again,” he says with such a light tone, airy and sounding like flower petals caressing his cheek “Come with me.”

No, he doesn’t want to. “I’m afraid I have to decline.” Sicheng sends a sheepish smile hoping it didn’t betray how his heart was hammering inside his chest.

“You’re freezing. Come with me.” The stranger hoists himself to sit on the edge of the cave, silver hair glittering in the darkness and the white clothes he’s wearing clinging to his body like a second skin. He didn’t appear much older than Sicheng, a small frame and expressive eyes that kaleidoscopes colors every time he shifts. But the way his body is angled, the languid movements when he leans closer with his hand outstretched, makes him seem out of place. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by his measly clothing not protecting him from the cold. He keeps his eyes on Sicheng, too intense for someone he barely even knew.

“I know your name but you don’t know mine.” the stranger chuckles softly, leaning closer with his hand ready to touch Sicheng’s arm. “But I think we know how this game is played. You’re such a smart child, after all. Such a lovely boy." Fingers tracing over his arm, he lets his hand touch Sicheng’s wrist, earning a shiver before he moves away with a sweet smile.

It’s taunting him.

Sicheng tries to cover his ears when he hears singing, ducking his head between his folded legs. He knows it’s a trick. He knows that if he let himself to listen to the song, he will lose control over his body. There’s a niggling at the back of his mind to not let it happen again, a blurry memory of a soft hand holding his smaller one, mesmerized by the song as he is led deeper into the forest. He feels an incoming headache throbbing in his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose to alleviate it despite how his fingers feel like they’re about to fall off. He takes a few breaths, in and out just as Renjun taught him when he felt particularly stressed, staring down the glowing water where he knows the fae is lying in wait. He sees movement now and then, careful to perch near the bend where he can get to the water without the fae grabbing him again.

He sinks back into the water, the freezing water enveloping him as he swipes his arms to try to swim, swim far away from the silhouette under the water that’s following him.

He feels the brush of hands around him as he paddles, flopping around to gain speed whenever he feels the phantom hands yanking his leg or caressing his hair. He accidentally drinks some of the water when a particularly strong yank causing him to get dunked underwater, gasping as he feels his body is burning. He hauled himself up the bank with shaking arms, spitting out water and catching his breath as he realizes it's not his body that's affected.

The marks spiraling on his arms are glowing red, pulsating in rhythm and when he touches his upper arm, he flinches at the heat emanating from it. It's never happened before and he fears that he worsened everything for coming here.

"What did your mother call you?" The fae's voice echoes, dripping glee and excitement as a ripple breaks on the lake and there it is, peeking out with half of his head submerged as it stares at Sicheng with a predatory glint in his eyes. The smile he wears is distorted under the water but his voice surrounds Sicheng when he cooes "Winwin. Oh, Winwin. I waited for so long to see you again. How cruel of you to forget to visit."

Being polite to the fae could buy Sicheng time to run but he didn't want to carry a conversation with it lest he backed himself into a corner. He knows that words, especially names, have power and the craftiness of faes can make anyone be charmed by their gifts, their appearances. He needs to run. It's not a good idea but it's the best he has. But if the fae finds it rude, then he will be in bigger trouble.

“It would be polite,” he starts to say, holding back the tremble in his voice, “It would be polite if you gave me yours.” 

The fae doesn’t do anything yet. Sicheng takes this as a headstart so he starts walking away, lips pursed to stop himself from clacking his teeth due to the cold. He hears the sound of water splashing and a pair of footsteps follow him, too quiet for Sicheng to hear properly if not for the sound of dripping water coming closer and closer.

"You know who I am. We've met before. You grew well, so well. Strong and bright."

"Leave me alone." Sicheng hisses under his breath, punctuating his words with every step as he treks up the rough path where the grass is scarce and the earth is turning pitch black. He stares as his hands are coated in soot, rubbing them on the ends of his still wet shirt as he smears black over the clothing. He rubs his hands as the temperature drops, unsure where he is heading until he sees the silhouette of something in the middle of the clearing, void of trees and any sign of life. 

His marks itch, glowing brighter that he is looking like a torch in the dark as he steadily goes near whatever there is in the clearing. He doesn't hear the fae following him anymore but it doesn't hurt to be cautious as he looks over his shoulder. He gets closer, horror suddenly seizing up his chest as he stares at a very familiar stump in the ground, still stained red. The stump is turning black by the roots while the red stain is still as vibrant as he remembered. He remembers it as if it happened yesterday and he holds back the urge to vomit.

"Your mother thought I wouldn't know. She thought she could get away after what she did."

Sicheng looks up to see the fae sitting on the ground, hand touching the roots of the stump with delicate strokes as he stares at him. 

The fae continues "She was brave. But there are things humans misunderstand fae. We are not monsters. We eat to survive and protect what is ours." He is standing up now, tilting his head low and looking like his neck is about snap. Sicheng takes a step back. "She knew what would happen. But grief is powerful in itself. Or maybe…" He reaches out to Sicheng "Maybe desperation can only get you far enough before it destroys you."

"Enough!" Sicheng shrieks.

The fae tuts at him, sharp teeth bared as his eyes shift into slits. "You want to know what happened. You feel it pulling you. You're so much like her. Both of you running straight into the unknown without any hesitation. Curiosity is in your blood. And your mother has paid her price." He moves closer to Sicheng, too fast for the latter to comprehend until he feels claws digging into his arms, right where the marks swirl as they began to pulse under the fae's hands. Sicheng feels the burn against his skin as his body is overcome with panic, feeling the familiarity but rejecting it. A push and pull within him that he feels like he'd break in half.

"Please let go of me." Sicheng grits his teeth, pulling away as the fae barks a ear-piercing laugh. 

"I can't believe you forgot me. Your mother may be powerful with the spells she used but in the end, you come back because this is where you belong. You know it."

Sicheng hisses as his head starts throbbing, the fae grabbing his face so he could look into his eyes. The same glow from his marks sizzles in the fae's eyes, forcing eye contact as he digs his nails under his ears. He feels the fae caressing his right ear, the elfish ear that Renjun would tell him made Sicheng look like he was a fairy. The one his mother would faintly touch whenever she thought he was asleep, murmuring intelligible things he can barely understand.

"Let it go. Don't fight it. Just remember." 

Sicheng blacks out.

“Let’s play a game.” 

He counts from one to ten, eyes on crossed arms as he leans on the tree. He can smell the earth, smell the trees as they hover, wind strong enough to flutter the leaves that sounded a lot like the laughter Sicheng hears when his mother took him to the forest after the whole fiasco of him disappearing. He’s alone now, his mother too busy to take him to the forest for that day, talking with the council about the missing children. His father didn’t bat an eye as she kept pushing that the forest must be cleansed of whatever evil lingered there. They let two guards watch over Sicheng, making sure that he wouldn’t wander too much. 

But Sicheng has always been better at escaping them. He knows the hidden passages of the castle like the back of his hand and he’s sometimes easy to miss with how his footsteps are too quiet. He manages to escape the guards, knowing well that they would eat their lunch at this hour and put on the boots he’d been carrying, fixing his shirt as he toddles over to the forest. 

He’s barely made it to the path when a peculiar sound stops him. He looks around as the sound of laughter rings through the woods, trees looking down on him as if they had eyes. He hears the rhythmic fluttering of wings, bells echoing every step he took away from the path. He parts the hedges, hitchhiker plants clinging to his socks, chasing the laughter that becomes louder as he stumbles into the very same clearing.

He hears someone call him out to play. He forgets his mother’s words as he follows the sound and looks up to the stranger again, glowing despite how the skies darkened in an ethereal light as he grabs Sicheng’s hand. Lights flickered around them, fireflies that were entirely covered in their light. The stranger whispers to him that they will have so much fun, that they will take care of him and make him happy.

And he forgets.

Ten ( that’s what Sicheng believed his name could be, counting down from ten made him realize he cannot give his name and the fae won’t give his either) is just like the pixies he heard from his mother’s story. Impish, delicate but surrounded by an intimidating aura that makes him seem fascinating. 

Sicheng is presented with nuts and berries from Ten himself, telling him that if he ever was hungry, just ask him. Sicheng hasn’t seen him pick the berries and assumed that it was just nearby but he doesn’t accept, refusing with a polite smile that made Ten frown. To appease him, Sicheng let him drag into the clearing to dance with their bare feet against the grass. While he was just reaching Ten’s shoulder, Sicheng did his best to match his steps, twirling and collapsing on the grass with a big laugh. 

It was a fun day. 

Until Sicheng’s mother came to the clearing.

Ten holding him tight, squeezing the air out of him as his mother rushed to them with wide eyes. “No.”

“He belongs here.”

“You took my first child. Now you’re taking him.” his mother shrieked. Her hands wrap around her stomach, shaking as she kept her gaze on Sicheng. “We made a deal.”

Ten nuzzled the top of his head, sneering at her “You took something of mine. You said it would be fair. But no. You humans don’t want us faes to win. We don’t share the same rules, dear. He’s mine to take. He is mine to protect.”

Sicheng’s mother reached out, trying to call Sicheng to her but Ten sensed it, eyes glowing as he sunk his teeth right into Sicheng’s jugular.

He felt the surge of magic through his veins. He feels it burst deep within his chest as he screamed at the first spurt of blood down his collarbone, staining his shirt. He heard his mother screaming, fire blazing in her wake and running straight to him with embers in her eyes.

Sicheng is dropped down the grass, neck stinging and looks on with bleary eyes as Ten stabs her through the stomach with his own arm. Sicheng felt the burn in his arms and legs, his mother’s fire warping around them and sinks down. He screamed as the magic he didn’t even know he has merges with the fire, warping around his limbs.

Sicheng doesn’t remember anything else. A hand touches his forehead, whispering a song under their breath. The pain faded but Sicheng still blacked out with the smell of smoke and blood.

There was a kingdom with a forest surrounding it. The people feared the woods with its inhabitants living off magic to survive. The Fae were complex, made to change their minds at the slightest offense, ruled by primitive energy where laws of man don’t exist. Their rules are made of mischief, trickery. Every little word they can weave into tool to control. They’ll let you be if you showed them respect but with no guarantee of freedom to anyone they marked as their own.

The bards sing a song. 

_ Lonely boy _

_ Born into royalty _

_ Grew with tragedy _

_ Nipping at his heels _

_ Lost himself _

_ To the night. _

They sing it when their king falls ill from grief, looking for his son, asking for forgiveness for his negligence and calling his wife’s name every day with tears in his eyes. The nobles mourn the empty closed casket, trying to understand how the boy disappeared. There’s gossip in the streets of arranged murder, of how the prince could have run away from what they think was a bad father and like his mother, is spirited away. The prince’s closest attendant weeps, the staff says. They say it was Renjun’s fault their prince vanished, helping him escape even and if not for how the king defended him, he would have been thrown in the dungeons. 

That wasn’t the only news that shook everyone as they began to suspect the forest has changed, the faes calmer than they have been for years and the life in the forest reviving in a rapid pace. The birds flock more in the forest, villagers who went through the forest realizing how the forest seems to help them. It’s a strange change but anyone with ill intent and wanting to destroy the forest vanishing without a trace. 

Sometimes in the dead of the night, children see orbs of light floating near the forest and whoever walks through the forest in the evening report that they saw two figures walking through the unmarked path. flowers in their heels and the sound a tinkling laughter fading into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank the mods for being so kind and understanding and to my friends who helped me continue this fic when i was close to giving up. I haven't written in a while so I have to say I'm prob kinda rusty. I hope you all enjoy this as much as i did. If you see any mistakes or even constructive criticism, please let me know. Thank you for reading!


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